The sheets are soft against my skin, and for a moment, I let myself pretend I could stay here all day. But the sunlight streaming through the blinds tells me it’s far from morning. I groan, sitting up and rubbing my eyes, then grabbing my phone from the nightstand where it’s been placed and plugged in to charge. It’s already early afternoon.
There are three unread messages waiting for me.
Koen
There are breakfast burritos in the oven keeping warm for you. I’m out with Levi and Sylus to check on some things in the Lane Building. Text me when you’re awake, Little Thief.
Sylus
Hope you slept well, Sparkle baby. I love you.
Ace
I dare you to wear long sleeves and pants and come meet me outside the house.
Ace. He sent it only ten minutes ago, and my heart jumps at the thought of him waiting for me.
I send a quick good morning text to Koen and Sylus before I throw the covers back and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the lazy part of me that wants to stay wrapped in Koen’s scent.
The air is cool against my skin, and I look down to find I’m only in my panties and a black shirt that looks like Koen’s.
Huh.
I make my way to Sylus’s room, where he stashed the stuff he brought over for me. Sure enough, there’s a bag with my things sitting by his bed.
The room is a fucking mess, clothes draped over the chair, a couple of gaming controllers scattered around, and empty energy drink cans on the floor. But what makes me stop is the embroidery hoop propped on the bed. The fabric stretched tight across it is adorned with stitched green letters surrounded by pink flowers.GET FUCKE.
I let out a laugh, shaking my head. Next to it are scattered skeins of pastel thread and a needle stuck through the edge of the cloth, like he abandoned the project mid-insult.
Still smiling, I grab my bag and dig through it, pulling out fresh panties, a bra, a pair of leggings, and a hoodie. The thought of him sitting here, probably swearing at the thread while trying to keep the stitching neat, sticks with me as I head to the en suite.
Setting the clothes on the counter, I catch a glimpse of the bandage on my arm. With a sigh, I peel it off carefully, wincing at the raw edges of the graze. The skin looks better, healing slowly but still tender. I grab a tube of cream from the medicine cabinet and smooth a thin layer over the wound, then cover it with a fresh bandage.
Brushing my teeth, I run a comb through my hair, debating for a second whether to put on makeup. But it’s Ace. I don’t need to hide behind foundation and mascara with him.
And he’s waiting for me.
I pull the hoodie over my head, slip on my sneakers, and rush downstairs to the kitchen. Pulling two breakfast burritos out of the oven, I wrap them in napkins and head to the door.
The sunlight is brighter than I expect as I step outside, the air warm against my hoodie. I scan the driveway, frowning when I spot Ace sitting on the bottom step, two pairs of skates lying next to him.
Skates?What the hell?
I walk down toward him, my steps careful as if not to disturb whatever has him sitting there so still. When I reach him, I hesitate for a moment before sitting down next to him, just far enough away that our arms don’t brush, and reach out one of the burritos in my hand.
“You’re on,” I say, waiting for him to make the first move.
His ice-blue eyes flick to mine, and a smile tugs at his lips as he takes the burrito. “Thank you.”
At first, we eat in silence.
And God, is it good.
But while the sound of napkins crinkling and the occasional chirp of a bird fills the air, my thoughts are louder.
Am I sitting too close?
Should I shift farther away?
